Images Of Broken Light
by hariboo-smirks
Summary: Robin, Much, The Holy Land. War is not the greatest of adventures.


**Title**: Images of Broken Light  
**Rating**: R  
**Fandom**: Robin Hood  
**Pairings**: Robin/Much  
**Spoilers**: Pre-show  
**Summary**: _He did not want for glory or for the need to return to Locksley saying he won a war for King and Country. He had been happy in Locksley _

* * *

**Images of Broken Light**

"_Much?"_

"_Yes, Master?" _

§

The first woman Robin shared his bed with in his crusade with King Richard was dark and had green eyes. She was a servant and had strong legs and rode him well. Robin brushed her hair away from her face and kissed her neck. The next day Much shared his bed with her as well, not because he wanted her, even though he had. And not because he found her particularly attractive, even though he had, but because Robin had said it was okay.

Much, himself, would have never even thought to ask for the woman even though it had been oh so long since he had shared his bed with anyone and she had been rather beautiful in a broken and glassy way. No, Much wouldn't have asked for the woman, but Robin had seen the lust in his friend's eyes as he had smuggled her into the tent and knew that it had been just as long for Much as it had been for him, and if he was restless and hungry for the body of a woman, then Much must have been feeling the hunger ten-fold. So Robin had cupped Much's neck and whispered permission where it had not been asked. And so Much was allowed and allowed himself to want the young girl.

But unlike the night before where Robin had had the tent to himself as Much slept outside, Much was very aware of the seemingly sleeping body just a few feet away. Much knew better though, Robin was awake. His master would have never chosen to sleep outside like Much had and also never having being a deep sleeper, but good at pretending at it. Robin was very much awake as Much joined with the girl.

Neither knew if the coiling heat in their bellies' was because of the girl, coarse and dark and shifting under Much releasing tinny sounds of pleasure similar to the night's before, or because of the fact they knew that should they turn their head and open their eyes they would see one another. Both did know though that they were less than three feet from one another, they always were, and should one extend and arm or a leg, hot skin would brush against sweaty one. Underneath Much the girl arched and gripped his shoulders as she released a gasping mewl, her eyes snapping open, head to the side, meeting Robin's own darkened ones. One look that Much was not, would not be aware of and Robin's eyes closed as Much turned his head to muffle his own groans against her lips.

After she slipped on her sheath, light and dirty, and padded away leaving the two old friends to their tent. As she slipped away like a dust storm, Much arranged himself and slipped his own armour back on, for in war one must always be prepared and the next morning they were leaving, continuing to Acre, where the king was planning to join with King Philip and then head to Jerusalem. The Holy Land. The mere idea filled the two friends with awe and in Robin's case, excitement. A place to show his skill, to have glory, to be seen as more than an Earl and little _boy_ who had been given everything, because he knew he was more. He was meant for more and this Holy Land with its turgid name would give it to him. He could feel it in his bones.

Much could not say the same.

He did not want for glory or for the need to return to Locksley saying he won a war for King and Country. He had been happy in Locksley. Not overtly so, but nothing he could really complain about and he had a good friend in Robin. Robin, who treated him too much like a brother than a servant at times and made him feel too comfortable at others. And, quite honestly, Much had been happy with that, but when Robin had announced he was joining King Richard and told Much he did not have to join him, Much had only rolled his eyes, because there was no way he would have ever left Robin alone. It was just not something that had ever occurred for him to do, still from the day they had set out there had been a feeling in Much's stomach and it only grew every day.

At the moment, as he arranged himself and got ready for the morning to come, he turned on his side to better face Robin. Now that the girl, whose name he had not even know, was gone and the undercurrents of the night were hazy like dreams he could properly face his master and watch over him as he slept. Something he had always done, and felt no qualms in continuing to do so.

He shifted in his space and closed his eyes to catch whatever small rest he could. As sleep overtook Much's sated body, he whispered words into the night, words he always whispered, "Sleep well, Master."

"Sleep well, Much." Robin's voice was equally soft in the warm night as it shifted closer to his. And Much slept.

The next morning when he woke and prepared their supplies as Robin slept on, Much made his way out of the tent they share and after packing their supplies looked out to the view the island gave them. A wide and cerulean sea reflected the sun and it made Much long for the moors of England. He knew Robin felt differently. He felt free here, a place where he could stretch out and feel the world. Robin had always had an overpowering need for touch, to be touched. His master reveled in touch and love, Much only tried to give him what he could.

Cyprus, to Much, was too hot and too sandy and he honestly did not care that it was referred to as the crossroads between East and West because it just meant they were getting father and farther from England. England, where things made sense. Where the lines of propriety didn't blur and weren't blown away in the sand. Where Robin's touch was a simpler one. One not filled with the heat of the sand and air or enormity of the sea that stretched out in front of him.

He watched the other troops begin to gather their own supplies as he heard a voice behind him.

"Much?"

"Yes, master?"

But Robin did not answer him; instead Much felt a presence too close to his back and a hand at his shoulder, the thumb brushing the warmed skin of his neck.

"It is breathtaking, is it not?" Much could hear the anticipation in Robin's voice and not wanting to disappoint him with his answer only nodded.

Robin's grin was as wide as the sea as he moved closer and wrapped his arm around Much's neck. "Come on, Much, have some cheer, we are going on an adventure!"

Much could never deny Robin a smile. "We are indeed. And I should expect it to be a grandiose one for fear of you getting bored."

Robin's laugh rang out through the morning, bright and equaling the morning's sun.

§

"_I should have listened to you back in Locksley." _

"_Master…"_

§

Robin had never scene Much sickly in his life, well not to his knowledge, as he was learning his friend was shockingly good at keeping certain things closer to the vest than any other person he knew. So the image of Much's very much greenish tint to his skin with his head lolling back against the wood of the ship filled Robin with a worry that he had never been one to experience. He blamed it entirely on the storm they had caught leaving Cyprus, the rough seas it provided, and Much had not been a fan of sea travel in the first place. Even in Locksley it had taken a straight order of younger Much to get on the boat Dan had built for him.

Robin felt a tinge of old guilt at the memory, suddenly understanding that if this was anything like the anxiety Much had felt that day, then he had been a rather terrible friend. Instead of dwelling on the feeling for too long, he just pressed a cloth to Much's cheek.

Shockingly, Much batted his hand away. "There's not need for that, Master, I shall be fine in a few hours."

Robin only shook his head, "Does it make you feel better?" Much said nothing, but refused to meet his eyes, except for the briefest second when Robin lowered his head to catch them. His answer had been had.

"Oh, Much." Robin made sure his voice carried the command and the care as he pressed the cloth to the older boy's face. His other hand brushed wet hair from the now slightly more flushed face.

"You need not worry about me." Eyes still avoiding his, Much's voice carried the tone of shocked awe that Robin was now used too after many years of hearing it, and it drove him forward to make sure Much got better soon. The feeling he always got at that tone made him feel uncomfortable, more so because he knew he shouldn't care so much.

"I do, because then who would be around to look after me."

"You always say you never need anybody to look after you."

"You," Robin paused and let the words, the admission, that so very rarely left his lips reach Much, "are not anybody."

"Master…"

"You must rest." Robin dampened the cloth and wiped the damp curls from Much's face and relaxed slightly at the return of colour to the previously clammy cheeks. The idea of continuing without Much was not a very entertaining one and Robin was not about to admit it scared him enough to return to England. He had meant what he had said, _who would take care of him if not for Much_?

"I shall rest if only to stop you from fretting. Really, who knew you would be the sort?" Thankfully Much himself snapped him out of his depressingly maudlin thoughts, which to be honest Robin had never been fond of. Mawkish sentiments were no fun at all, and he didn't like to bother with them. It was why he had Much after all.

"I learned my fretting way from you, old friend." Robin smiled charmingly and rested his warm forehead to Much's fevered one.

Much smiled as he closed his eyes to Robin's words and slept. Robin kept watched and wondered how Much could stand it. How could he worry for Robin so much on a daily basis? Robin pushed the thoughts out of his mind for worry of what exploring them too deeply would bring to him and sat back. He rested his head against the hull of the ship and startled a little when he felt a weight drop on his shoulder. Turning he saw Much's straw coloured hair and felt his soft snores against his collarbone, and where he would normally push Much away to rest opposite, Robin couldn't this day. Instead Robin shifted his weight against his spot so Much rested more comfortably against him, a warm comforting press at his side.

The following nights when they slept side by side, the event of the day when it had started were never mentioned. Nor did they need to be.

The journey to the dry shores of Palestine took days and when they did indeed reach them, dawn was breaking and the sun looked to be bleeding on the horizon. Robin turned to Much with a warm smile, which Much returned, and pressed their hips together. They were side by side and did not plan to part.

§

"_You no longer need to call me that, old friend."_

"_Master…."_

§

Death was not something new to Much, he was Catholic after all, but senseless killing was. Much had never seen so many people die for something they all seemed to believe in. Part of him thought that might actually be the problem. The reason as to why these Crusades did not seem to end, the beliefs were the same, it was just the execution of them that differed and divided.

The sun was high on the battlefield and Much could not distinguish between the coppery and pungent smell of blood and his own fusty sweat which seems to adhered all surrounding smells to him as it did with his clothing. Something he knew would be a right unhappiness to wash out later.

As he swung his sword striking at the nearest opponent Much kept half of his awareness on where Robin was. He always did, always would. As he pulled his sword from the now dead man's body, Much turned round to block and push off an oncoming attack, seeing as the man was felled from the back and Robin's dirty face appeared behind it. There were traces of blood on Robin's cheeks and chest plate but Much paid them little heed as he moved closer to his Master, who right here, on this bloodstained ground felt more like an extension of himself, like his shield did, like his sword did.

Feeling as Robin extended his bow behind him Much made sure that nobody got to close to either him or Robin as Robin lined up his shot and Much could disjointedly hear the groans of the men just seconds after the snap of the bow.

As the Turks got closer Much heard the order to move towards the King and followed it blindly. Next to him Robin moved in tandem and together they made their way to the man they had sworn to protect. Feeling a movement from his right, Much blocked the approaching attack with his sword, held high above his head, he blocked the sweep of the curved Saracen sword and met dark brown eyes without intending to. The beholder of the sword was young, probably not much older than Robin or Much himself, but there was death in his eyes, again, probably not much different than Robin or Much and for a second everything blurred for Much – _why? how old is he? how many has he killed without a thought? how many have Robin and I killed in the same manner?_ – things blurred for Much in that instance and then everything too detangled itself and Much watched as the brown eyes he had been staring into widened in shock, pupils dilating and then rolling back. Some far part of Much recognized what had happened. The boy had died, but as the body fell a sword was pulled from it's side, the blood looking darker than Much had ever seen it and there was no question as to who had killed this boy and saved his life.

Turning to Robin there was something that Much felt break inside him, when he met blue eyes so like his own. "Thank you, Master."

Robin only nodded, picking up the fallen sword and waved Much forward, "We have to move, the King is heading to the left flank." Robin sprinted forward and Much stood standing for a second looking at the body that already looked to be half buried in the sand.

He stood and knew that whatever broke inside him was mourning, whether for himself, Robin, or this boy he did not know. He had the sneaking suspicion it was for them all.

"Much, come on!"

Snapping to attention Much lifted his head and moved to where Robin had called him, for despite the equality they had found on the battlefield, he was still servant to his master and wherever Robin would go he would follow blindly, with his eyes open.

§

"_Much, you have no need to call me Master anymore." _

"_Stop it. You will be fine. The medicine will work and you will not even remembered this fevered conversation." _

§

The following night after they had both washed the blood and grime of their bodies Much and Robin fell into their tent, weary of body and soul. The day had been defined by the blazing sun and slipped red on golden dunes, but the night was to be defined by a hidden moon and the loss of simplicity. It would be defined by the first time Robin touched Much, in a way that left too many ideas and feelings wanting, the first time that Much touched Robin in the same way.

Neither had talked or really met the other's eyes as they slipped under their thin covers and closed their eyes as to ward off the ghosts that they both felt had followed them from the battle.

The battle that day had been long and hard and bloody. Robin still smelled the metallic tang of the red splatters against his chest plate and still tasted it on his lips. He curled on his side, like he hadn't done since was boy – because a boy, innocent, is not something he can relate with himself anymore – and looked at Much who was also curled facing Robin.

Much's eyes were closed but Robin knew he was awake. His hand, Much's not Robin's, was lying in the sand between them and Robin studied its texture. Rough and calloused it was a wide hand with a strong palm and steady fingers. It was a bit dirty but even so its steadiness shone through. This was a hand that would, nay had fought to protect him and Robin needed to feel something that was not death and pain. He moved his own hand, feeling braver than he had all day, and gently clasped the thick wrist that supported the curled hand.

He let his own lean and nimble fingers wrap loosely around it. In a surprising bout of awareness and modesty, the thought that Much might not need him or the reminder that it was because of him, Robin of Lockesly, that he was in this dry and arid land where the smell of blood permeated the sand in every step they took. Robin stilled at the thought. He did not wish for Much to pull away but would not be able to feel blame should his old friend choose to do so. That is if he even acknowledged the thinner hand around his wrist.

Letting his hand lay loosely around Much's wrist for a minute, Robin feared he was tempting fate and began to move it back when he swore he felt it move. More precisely he felt Much move. All of the muscles in Robin's back suddenly felt too tight. Eyes still closed, Much moved his hand so it slid down making it as if Robin's were sliding up and Robin watched Much's steady fingers slide between his own as if arranging a puzzle together. They locked together and curled, holding on.

Robin breathed and tightened his own grip, feeling Much's constant love seep through their joined fingers and cover his shaking soul, soothing it.

Robin breathed, reassured and shifted closer to the warmth of Much.

Robin breathed, whispering with the desert wind, "I do love you, Much."

Much for all closed eyes and still form, whispered back, "I love you too, Robin."

They did not move closer, but slept like that for the rest of the night. Two bodies, tainted and hardened, curled towards each other and joined together by clasped hands like children do when seeking comfort. And peace.

§

"_Yes, I will, old friend. I promise you this." _

"_Please don't…" _

§

In the Holy Land, Cyprus, Acre time seemed to stretch out in a way that tugged on something inside Much. It gnawed at him and Much would have guessed they had been here for months, though sometimes it still felt like days and other times years, but the one constant in all this was how the sand and the wind and the heat made it seem far longer and wore on their hearts. Looking at the rising sun over the pale dunes, Much sighed, feeling the sharp glare of the sunrise hit his eyes and hoping it would be enough of an excuse should Robin ask about the sheen in them. Shaking his head, Much stifled a choked laugh, for Robin would never ask about what he saw in Much's eyes. He would look at them and turn his own face to the sun, letting it excuse his own hazy eyes.

Much sighed again, thoughts not surprisingly turning to his still sleeping master and the murmured name of his dreams, always the same,_MarianMarianMarian_. Much speculated about he nature of Robin's dreams, were they all of Marian? And if they were, were they all of Marian and England? Much wondered if Robin dreamt of Marian here, in the Holy Land. Much wished not, for he did not wish for Robin to have to taint his thoughts of Marian with the cruelties they faced here. This was not the place where the purity of Marian should be sullied, Much thought. And then with a sharp jolt to his belly he thought on if whenever, should it ever happen that Robin dreamed of him, would his master's thoughts of him be forever spoiled with images of death and blood. The thought left a nasty feeling in Much's mouth and heart, but it was not a thought he would be able to follow to its endpoint because it was then he felt two arms wrap around his waist and a warm forehead rest on the back of his neck.

"This isn't much of an adventure is it, old friend?' Much felt Robin's words like wisps of wind on small hairs on his neck.

Turning his head slightly, Much straighten his back, but kept his voice soft. "No Master, I can't say that it is, not in the slightest."

"I'm am sorry for it." Robin's hand tightened on Much's thin tunic and Much fought the itch to grip Robin's hand with his own and intertwine their fingers. Instead he settled on looking down at Robin's lean fingers and dropped his chin to his chest – Robin's still connected forehead to the back of his neck followed the movement.

"There is no need for apology, I would have come with you regardless." It was not said to placate Robin, for the part of Much that knew Robin so thoroughly, and which neither man admitted existed, doubted it would have anyway. It was said because it was _true_. It was honest and real and something that connected them in a way that laid far beyond this war, with roots in Locksley and England where things were green and alive.

There was silence for a while after that as the sun rose over a golden ocean that Much watched, Robin's forehead against his neck and hand twisted in his tunic. It was then, when the sun rose fully over the horizon, Much felt Robin shift behind him, pressing closer, his sharp chin resting on Much's weary shoulder, his cheek warming Much's own. "And that is why I love you."

Much sighed at the words, thankful that today they calmed him, and allowed himself to grip Robin's wrist, which in turn Robin turned tolet their palms press each other, fingers weaving together.

"I hope you realise that this means you owe me a proper adventure." Much smiled, turning to Robin, head tilting in hopes to catch a grin.

Robin did not disappoint, though Much would not have expected anything less. "That I do, old friend. That I do." Robin's eyes twinkled in a way Much knew they hadn't been before, when his forehead had been leaning so tiredly against the cord of muscle in Much's neck, and thus Much let himself feel proud of that. Robin stepped from behind Much to his side, pressing a loud kiss to Much's cheek, an arm getting crooked over his neck. He now slipped from the shadow that Much had provided and met the steadily rising sun with an equally shining smile. "Soon Much, we will be in Locksley and we'll have a proper adventure."

Much smiled up at Robin, "I should hope so." Then softer, "I should hope."

§

"_Yes, I will remember, for you deserve it. You have been tied me be for far too long and get only pain from it. You deserve better than me." _

"_Stop saying that! There is no better, so stop saying that, right now!"_

"_I do not deserve you." _

§

There was a sharp pain to his side and it roused Robin from the deep sleep he was in. Blinking blue eyes open, he felt too hot and turning to where Much was curled next to him, he shifted Much's sleeping body for some breathing room, the movement caused a wave of dizziness and pain. A sharp pain grew from his ribs all the way to his head and stumbling out of bed, he made sure not to wake Much, grabbing for a tunic and some water. The tunic felt heavy in his hands and the water did not help.

With an awkward shift of his shoulders, Robin let the tunic drop back on his wiry chest, as he then rushed from the tent and the sounds of Much's snores to bend over in pain, his side burning, and be sick by the side of their tent. As he heaved heavily, his hands cupping his knees, Robin hoped that Much wouldn't be roused by the sounds he made. Lifting his tunic he looked at still healing wound that spanned his ribs in an angry, grated line. It had been healing well thanks to the King's physician and Much's constant care, but ever since two days ago when he had rushed after Thomas as he led the charge into that village, Robin's side had been burning something awful. Still, he said nothing, especially to Much because he knew what the older boy's reaction would be and he did not wish to see his friend worry in a such away again. The image of holding him, pressing his strong hands into his bloodied side was not something Robin wished to see ever again.

Looking at the wound, he feared infection and touched it lightly to test its tenderness. One quick brush of his fingers, sent him to his knees in pain and he could feel the fevered sweat on his forehead. Robin gritted his teeth and moved to get up, pushing his pain aside, and shuffled back into the tent. As he stepped in he was faced with a rising Much, who turned to him with a small smile that quickly turned into a grim frown. "Master, was is wrong?"

Much moved forward, palming Robin's cheek in quiet concern, his eyes widening, "Master! You have a fever!" Much detached his hand from Robin's cheek, missing the look that crossed Robin's eyes at the loss of contact. He went straight to their water basin and wetting a cloth he muttered, "I knew I shouldn't have allowed you to go into that village. You exerted yourself too much and now you're feverish. Feverish and clammy to the touch, that cannot be good. No, I think not. You need to rest and I will be informing the physician as soon as I have you resting."

The words left Much's mouth way too quickly for Robin to grasp them all, but he felt his chest tighten at the amount of worry lacing his old friend's voice. "Much…" he spoke softly, watching as Much turned to him, eyes to bright, "stop worrying, I will be –"

Robin didn't have time to finish his sentence as a wave of dizziness overtook him and he would have dropped once again to his knees, had Much not moved with a quickness that most did not readily associate with him and caught him, cradling Robin in his strong arms.

"You are_not_ fine. You are lying down and waiting until I return with the physician." Much's voice sounded too thick to Robin and he lifted his hand to cup Much's cheek.

"What would I do without Much?" He pressed his forehead against Much's and for a brief second, as Much's breath mingled with his, Robin felt this would be a good place to die.

After, everything became black.

§

"_Robin_!"

Much yelled hoarsely as Robin's figure became limp in his arms. Moving quickly Much gently laid Robin down on the bed and rushed to the King's physician, who had been taking care of Robin since Acre. He knew he shouldn't have let Robin go after Thomas that day, and it had been bad enough they had lost friends then, but it would not do to Much if Robin should follow them. Not it would not do, at all.

When the physician finally arrived he began to work on Robin and Much could only watch with ever increasing worry and heartache in his eyes. Every minute Robin was growing deathly pale and his breathing even more laboured than before. Much watched as doctor's hands moved swiftly over the wound. Ointments were applied and reapplied, and Much winced as he saw that the wound had to be re-sown and bandaged. The blood was so dark against the cloths that Much provided and he still kept up with the damp cloth to Robin's forehead.

Quietly he muttered prayers in both English and Turk, because they were in the Holy Land after all, and Much was not sure which god was closer at that moment. Though, he hated to admit, it felt like neither and had felt that way for quite some time.

When the doctor was done, he looked up to Much's eyes and then shifted them away just as quickly. He began gathering his supplies as Much asked what had happened to Robin.

The doctor stood by their tent's flap as he answered, "The wound, it was still healing." He dropped his eyes to where Robin slept, his breathing once again was settling, "It must have gotten infected somehow, causing bad blood to travel through his body. It has weakened him severely."

"But will he be all right?" Much asked, for all these words weren't telling him anything he wanted to hear.

The doctor was quiet in answering him, "If he has the will to fight, but he cannot continue with the king." He stepped out, leaving a nodding Much with Robin, which in all honesty was the way Much preferred it. That doctor might have just saved his master's life, but it would be Much that would keep him alive from now on.

Much quickly went to work, putting Robin's shirt to wash along with the cloths they had used, then he went to his satchel, where he still had the ointments and medicine he had gotten from one of their few Saracen allies, a boy who was said to have some medical training, and began preparing the salves for the infection that was overtaking Robin's body.

The rest of the night, Much stayed awake fighting Robin's fevered infection for him, because it did not look like Robin was doing much fighting of his own. In fact, ever since the doctor had passed by, Robin seemed to be in a deep state of sleep, occasional mutterings slipping out, some that Much did not wish to make out, others that he pressed his cheek to Robin's and clung to.

The next three days followed in what felt like winks of time to Much as he took care of Robin. His fever steadily rising as Much tried his best to help Robin's weakened body fight the infection that bloomed on from Robin's side. He would talk to Robin and listen to Robin's mumbled words, sometimes speaking as if he were in Locksley or to his parents or Marian. Sometimes he would call out Much's name, loud and desperate, and Much could feel his heart stop, for when he spoke of others, Much could qualify it all as dreams of home, but when it was his own name slipping from Robin's dry lips, Much felt as if his master was calling him to bear witness to the last moments of his life.

It was finally on the third day that Much heard Robin speak his first proper sentence, a low rasping voice, that sounded too much like Death for Much to be comfortable with.

"Much? Much?" Robin's eyes blinked against the soft light that filtered through their tent.

"Yes, Master?" Almost tripping over himself, Much made his way across the tent to Robin's side, grasping Robin's too thin wrist and removing the damp cloth from his forehead.

"I should have listened to you back in Locksley." Robin's voice was too quiet and it made saltwater sting Much's eyes. "You said it would be foolish of us to travel so far, that no good could come of it. Of leaving Locksley. You were right, it seems. You usually are, I should tell you that more often."

"Master…" Much bent his head to Robin's, a hand brushing matted fringe back. "You should stop talking in such a way, Master, it might lead me to think you've gone mad."

And even though there was no laughter in Much's eyes, Robin smiled as winningly as possible up at him. It made Much's heart miss out on a beat, but no more than what would come next out of Robin's mouth, "You no longer need to call me that, old friend."

"Master…." Feeling his heart stop almost completely, Much leaned in closer to Robin, "Master, what are you talking about?" Questioning Robin's words, he feared he already knew their true meaning.

Coughing, Robin moved to sit up, only to be stopped by a steadying hand to his chest. "Much, you have no need to call me Master anymore. It does not fit for a man to call another dying man, master. And I would not want to leave you indebted to anyone should—"

"Stop it. You will be fine. The medicine will work and you will not even remembered this fevered conversation." Much spouted desperately as Robin's words pierced his heart with every syllable that was uttered. He shook his head and grabbed a clean cloth to wipe the sweat from Robin's forehead.

Robin caught his hand and brought it down to chest, holding it there, over his heart. A weak beat under a steady hand. "Yes, I will, old friend. I promise you this."

"Please don't…" Much begged. It would be one of the few times in his life that he had ever truly begged to Robin, but he would never regret it. He did not want to gain his liberty by losing Robin. No, this would not do and Much pressed his head against his and Robin's joined hands. "No, this is not how it is to happen. I do not want it this way. I refuse it!"

"Yes, I will remember, for you deserve it. You have been tied to me for far too long and get only pain from it. You deserve better than me." Robin's grip on Much's hand tightened as if it was the only thing tethering him to the moment. Much could feel their shared desperateness in their joined grip and fought to keep Robin him the best way he knew.

"Stop saying that! There is no better, so stop saying that, right now!" Much leaned up and in a rare show of anger to the man he loved more than words, he gripped Robin's face in both his hands, challenging blue eyes to stay with him.

Robin blinked the wetness from his eyes as he stared up into Much's own misty ones, and whispered, "I do not deserve you." His other hand was then cupping Much's neck tugging it forward and Much helped his tired friend with the movement, bringing their foreheads together, like they always had done. "I did not deserve you." Robin repeated as their foreheads came together and both could see the balanced edge of the moment. Robin closed his eyes and Much followed, their hands holding the other's head tightly against the other, their breaths in perfect unison, trying not to let the growing pressures in their chest out. Much's breath was Robin's to exhale and inhale at will, and when their lips brushed neither moved away because the line had blurred long ago and the Much and Robin of Locksley had long been hidden in their own minds and hearts. Protected from this war by this Robin and Much who would do anything to pull the other from the end.

"Robin!" Much whispered harshly against dry lips, his voice coming out cracked like glass. "Don't leave me. Please don't leave me here alone."

Robin's smile was sad and wide, stretching along Much's lips, "It might not be up to me this time, dear old friend."

"No." Much protested against Robin's words, pushing his forehead tightly against Robin's, "No, I refuse to believe it. You do not die here, Robin." Their noses bumped together and Robin's hand tightened in Much's hair. "You do not die here, not if I should have anything to do about it." Much's whispers were fierce and when he felt Robin's dry sob, he held on tighter to the younger man.

"Lay with me, Much," Robin opened his eyes, meeting Much's own blue ones, another silent question being asked as well. "Stay with me, I do not wish to be alone tonight."

Much nodded and gently helped move Robin so he could lay next to him. They shifted on the spread and Robin once again pressed his forehead against Much's, "I've always felt safer when I know you are with me."

"Then I shall not leave." Much's closed his eyes, letting Robin's hands drift over his face and when he felt a fevered palm press against his lips, he whispered, "I shant ever leave you, even when you wish to leave me."

Robin's dry cough or sob, Much could not distinctively say which was which, stroked against his mouth and gently Much squeezed the waist band of Robin's trouser and Robin slipped closer to him. His skin was still clammy and fevered but Much made sure he did not pull himself too firmly against him and that the wound was being handled with care.

"Never leave me, Much." Robin's desperate words made Much run a hand through shaggy bangs and palm prickly stubble. "I do not think I could survive without you."

Much let Robin press himself fully against him. "You will not have to." He let Robin's hands brush against his cooler skin and his lips press against his collarbone, always making sure that Robin did not strain himself. Much let Robin take his hand and guide it between them, he let Robin distract himself from Death with him. And when Robin pressed his fingers against Much's neck, Much lowered his neck, moving his hand against Robin, and met blue eyes. They looked at each other as they panted in unison and Much dropped his lips to take Robin's in an eager and languid kiss and Robin's hand dug into his neck and side.

When he felt Robin sigh against him, he opened his eyes again, letting the kiss drop off, watching as Robin's breathing leveled out and brushing a callous palm against Robin's forehead, he smiled, feeling as the fever broke. Robin's breath was quiet against Much's collarbone, his lips pressing against it with each breath.

"What would I do should I not have you in my life, Much?" Robin's voice held a distinct sound of tears and Much did not tilt his head down to catch them with his gaze. He let Robin lay against him, resting.

"I truly hope you should never find out, it might be quite the rude awakening." Much gently shifted Robin back on the bed and moved to clean them both off.

By the time he was done and they were both clean, Robin's wound redressed and medicine reapplied, Much laid himself down next to Robin on the spread he had used before. Always near but not in danger of wounding Robin further. He watched Robin and watched as the sleeping figure reached over with his hand as if it was looking for something. Much blinked the tears from his eyes and reached over, grasping Robin's hand in his.

"I love you, Robin." He whispered as he joined their fingers.

"Me too, 'uch."

"And you won't leave me?"

Robin's answer was sleep muddled and he pulled their joined hands to his chest. Much took it to mean "not today."

§

Again on a ship, Robin leaned his shoulder against Much's side. "We made it, old friend.

Much snorted, "Hardly in good shape, Master."

Robin grinned into Much's shoulder and bumped his friend's thigh. "Stop calling me that, and we still made it. We have made it through the war and now we shall head back to England, and live our boring old lives together."

"Together, huh?" Much smiled quietly into the sun and Robin rolled his eyes in amusement.

"Of course together, I know of no one else who would put up with me as you have." Robin leaned forward on the ships hull, almost as if he was ready to fly off the deck.

"Well, that is true," Much spouted proudly, tugging on Robin's waist as if he did fear Robin would take into flight and leave him abandoned on the dirty deck of the ship, forgotten.

Robin only turned to him and smiled brilliantly, mirroring the sun, but his eyes were now darker, their innocence gone, lost in the desert and Much knew his were the same.

They were returning to England all right, but Much feared they had lost too much on the way.


End file.
